Brainwash
by Samjez
Summary: Actors are being kidnapped, and are being brainwashed to believe that they are their on-screen characters. After an insane David Tennant shows up in Benedict Cumberbatch's house, Benedict is whisked away to be brainwashed himself. It's up to him and David to save the other actors from the same demise! Completed!
1. David Tennant is crazy

"Where am I?"

"Salutations, David. Welcome to my humble abode."

"Are you one of those insane fangirls? Because this has gone way too far. I mean, really, kidnapping me and tying me to a chair is a little overboard…"

"You are here for a reason, David."

"Oh yeah? What reason is that? Ransom? If you let me go now, I won't even press charges!"

"You are going to be in for a surprise, my friend."

"Oh, really?! Because being kidnapped is a surprise in itself…"

"You were practically destined for the role of the Doctor."

"What do my previous acting jobs have to do—"

"Shush. Your entire life you were raised on the show, you wrote report after report to your teachers about this fantasy of yours. You grew up, tried out to be the Timelord yourself, and succeeded. Oh, how you succeeded! You blew the world away. We were all impressed."

"I get it; you are one of those really insane fangirls. Just PLEASE let me go."

"I can't do that. Don't you want to be the Doctor again? To slip on those Converse, and run once more and save the world again? I'm giving you that chance. Hold still, this won't take long."

"No, what are you doing? LET ME GO!"

"Look into the light. This will all be over as soon as you calm down. Tennant, Your name is now the Doctor. Understood?"

"OI! What are you doing with that needle?! I want Ou—"

"Doctor, it's about time you wake up."

* * *

The earlier events of the day had left a certain Benedict Cumberbatch utterly exhausted. The lanky man coped by pouring himself a nice cup of tea, seating himself upon a couch, and reading a book. Ever since his acting career took off, he had been finding himself with less and less time to relax and wind down. This was one of those rare moments. Even if it lasted only a few minutes, it was nice.

…_brrrrzzzzzzzz._

He snapped up in confusion. What was THAT? He glanced around the room, seeing nothing, but hearing the faint buzz of what sounded like a sonic screwdriver from the show Doctor Who. The novel can wait. He stood up, and then began to trace the faint noise. He followed the sound throughout his house, eventually landing upon his closet. The faint sound at this point grew incredibly loud, and with one swift motion Benedict swung open the door to his collection of clothes. Inside was….

…David Tennant? He had a toy replica sonic in his hand, which explained the noise.

No, that couldn't be right. The clearly confused David smiled with glee.

"Hello. I'm the Doctor!"

"David? What are you doing in my closet?"

"No no, just the Doctor. I like David though, has a nice ring to it."

He bounded out of the tiny space, looking at the surroundings of Benedict's bedroom. Apparently, he was fully clad in his Doctor's costume from the show, even going so far to have the same exact shoes. Benedict knew Tennant from meeting him at certain celebrity parties and events; the two had become good friends. This was not David however. His eyes appeared to be zoned out, and his Scottish accent had seemingly disappeared. He really was acting just like the Doctor. He even believed that the sonic screwdriver was real, as he was trying to lock the bedroom door afar with unsurprisingly no luck. Something was seriously wrong, and Benedict couldn't quite put his finger on it. And then David decided to speak up.

"…Stupid thing won't work on wood. Anyway, what was your name?"

"B-Benedict. Are you sure you are okay, David?" He didn't quite know what to say. One of best friends forgot his name?

"Humans are weird… I insist on being called the Doctor and you call me David! So, we have a problem."

Tennant had gone insane. Benedict was sure of it by now.

"_We_ have a problem?"

"Yes. How do I put it simply? Oh, I know! They are coming for you. Well, both of us really, because I escaped—"

"Escaped?"

"Yup. Some people tried to inject some _weird_ fluid in me, and they said you were next, so naturally I escaped and ran here to warn you were next. You _are_ next, by the way. So we better do something"

Benedict couldn't believe anything that the crazed Tennant said. And yet, he believed all of it. He didn't know why, but he did. So when the thunderous roar of people breaking in came right outside of his bedroom, he began to listen to everything his insane friend had to say.

"Oh look," David muttered. "They're here. We might just want to run now."

"Good plan."


	2. Benedict Cumberbatch is kidnapped

Being tied to a chair wasn't really Benedict's idea of fun.

After a failed attempt to escape, complete with Tennant rambling ('I'm a 900 year old Timelord! I can fight back!') coupled with many, _many_ failed attempts of using the toy screwdriver, Benedict soon found himself tied to a stiff chair with the help of friendly neighborhood thugs. The room he was taken to was dark, as he couldn't see his own feet in front of him. He figured that the ropes holding his hands were probably leaving imprints on his wrists. His friend was nowhere to be seen. _Why_ did he have to look for the stupid noise in the first place?

"Hello, Benedict."

The voice reverberated through the jet black room, giving the impression that the chamber was quite hollow. A light clicked on above him, making the actor squint. Before him stood a hooded figure, hiding in the shadows.

"I'm glad you could make it to my party."

"…"

He had nothing to say to the stranger. Instead, he began to discreetly attempt to untie the knotted rope that was restraining him. It was then when he realized he had been dressed in his Sherlock costume, blue scarf draped around his neck.

"Well, you don't say much, do you. Your on-screen persona is vastly different then how you react, Mr. Shy. This transformation is going to be fun, I can tell."

"…"

The knotted rope began to loosen as the nefarious shadow began to monologue. Then, the hooded figure pulled out something that glinted in the lamplight. Something that would have been ever so easily recognized by Sherlock Holmes.

"You see this? This is a needle. A needle filled with restructured DNA. Your friend David warned you about brainwashing, but this is much, much worse. Stays with you for a _long_ time, let me tell you. It has all the personality traits and memories of Sherlock Holmes. Would you like to try it out?"

"…You planted him there, in my room, didn't you? He said he escaped. I hardly doubt it, since he's gone completely mad."

"Well, aren't you two steps short of brilliant. Of course I did, that was part of my plan."

"And what may that plan be?" Benedict had freed his hands at this point, holding them behind his back so the figure didn't suspect anything.

"Ooh, I can't tell you that. But what I can tell you is that this will not hurt, as long as you don't struggle. Benedict, say hello to Sherlock!"

The cloaked figure inched closer, needle in hand. He was going to get injected. Benedict had a plan. An insane plan, with only mere seconds to execute it. The needle punctured the pale skin of his neck, and slowly was being injected into him. Now, if ever, was the time to act. Time began to slow down.

Benedict revealed his untied hands, pulling the half used hypodermic out of his body, and threw it across the room. Other then landing with a solid _plink_ across the dungeon, the room was dead silent.

"…You. You HAD to go and mess it up, didn't you?! Shame on you, Sherlock Holmes! Now I won't even be able to tell if the serum is going to do its job properly, since I only injected half of it! Do you _know_ how much this damn stuff costs?!" The hooded shadow hissed, then revenged by tipping back Benedict's chair, hitting the back to the concrete flooring with a THUD. If the person was so desperately worried that their special science project would work, then why not put on a show?

"...John? Where's John?"

From the corner of the room, Benedict could hear someone gasp with pure glee.

"…You mean, it worked? THAT quickly? I only injected half! This is Brilliant! Welcome home, Holmes."

The small pitter patter of shoes ran over to the actor, to inspect him in all of his glory.

"It DID work! Onto the next actor!"

The cloaked shadow of a person was so caught up in celebrating that they had completely forgotten about his prized experiment. It was the perfect time for Benedict to flee. He had to find David, and he had to get out of here. It was fantastic acting that gotten the figure to believe that something had changed.

…Or was it? Benedict didn't care. He dashed into the dark labyrinth, Sherlock coat and all.


	3. Benedict is Sherlock

**A/N: At the moment, I have only watched one episode of Supernatural. So there are not any plans to include Jensen Ackles or Jared Padalecki; I merely added their names for more variety. Sorry! ^^;**

* * *

Tap, tap, tap.

He bolted through the murky hallways, looking for something, anything that could lead the way out. This entire escapade was completely insane. He was so focused on finding the exit, that he almost passed by a certain crazed Timelord in a cell. With a smile on his face and a gleam in his eye, David began to speak from behind bars.

"Oh! Hello Benedict! I knew you would be a useful asset in my cunning plan…. Could you maybe get me out of this cell?"

"Oh, was getting trapped in a prison cell part of your cunning plan? Because it certainly doesn't look like it."

"OI, I'm not the one who ended up getting tied to a chair. You should probably go and look for the keys. I'll be waiting here!"

"..Obviously, considering you are stuck there. Besides…." He searched the inner parts of the black Belstaff, eventually coming across a set of keys. How did he get those? His mind began to race for an answer, when it seemed David already had one.

"Wow, I didn't know that _somebody_ liked to pickpocket. Clever! Hand 'em over, I'll find the right key."

That was…strange. The actor couldn't remember pick pocketing anybody. Even if he did, it was completely out of his personality; he had never stolen in his life, (other than a small shoplift when he was a less-than-intelligent teen, his mother grounded him for quite some time afterward.) and he had found it weird that he even knew how to do such a thing in the first place. His memory was fuzzed by adrenaline at the moment, so he merely accepted this accusation. With a click and a warm smile from his friend, the defeated padlock fell to the floor.

"Well, I know how to get out of here. Off we go! Allon-sy!"

Many sharp twists and turns later, they had found the exit. No, really, it even had a little red sign that said 'exit' right over the doorway. They swung the door open, prepared for the worst.

…Instead the duo were in for a pleasant surprise.

"It's good old London! I knew we didn't go far! Look it, all the humans, rushing about…. Ben?"

"..Huh?" He stiffened up, confused. He couldn't make out what was horribly, terribly, wrong.

"Anyway, did you steal anything else useful like my sonic back?" Benedict assumed that they took it from the brit because he was annoying the guards. He really couldn't blame them.

"Hm? Oh! Let me check." He rummaged through all of his coat pockets. A majority of them were empty, but the last pocket contained something vital. He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, straightened it out, and then began to read. It looked much like a grocery list, only instead of vegetables; it included names of famous actors.

**David Tennant**

**Benedict Cumberbatch**

** Matt Smith**

** Martin Freeman**

** Jensen Ackles**

** Jared Padalecki**

"I think we have a lead."

"Oh, really? Let me see!"

He passed over the paper, letting his friend read it. He couldn't recall ever pick pocketing anyone, though it seemed as the most plausible conclusion. They wouldn't just give him keys and a list to their evil plan, and he certainly wouldn't be able to see anything the bleak room. But pick pocking was so _unlike him_, he couldn't fathom trying and succeeding in the act.

_Unless…_

"Doct…—David? That serum, what was it composed of?"

"Going on the talking I heard in the room you were in, It's Your character's DNA. His personality, his memories, that sort of thing. Don't you remember?"

"…No. Should I?"

"I don't know. It's all very foreign to me, actually. I don't dabble in human technologies, it's much too simplistic. "

"We have a problem."

"Oh? Being in the middle of London with no TARDIS, sonic, or money is not—"

"Shut up." Christ, he didn't mean for it to come out like _that._ He plopped down on the sidewalk, and David soon followed suit.

"Hey, if you're going to be my companion, you can't talk to me like that!"

"I'm not your companion. I'm…"

"You're what?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, appearntly."

The two sat in silence, staring at the pavement and the feet of the people walking past. The overcoat was beginning to get itchy, and yet, for some odd reason Benedict couldn't take it off. At least, he didn't want to. David decided to pipe up.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"The feeling is mutual."

"You are THAT Benedict? From Sherlock?"

"Obviously."

"WOW. I didn't know I was dealing with a legend. Can I have your autograph?"

"David, we are friends. You already know me."

"Oh, really? Sorry."

The moon was beginning to show itself over the horizon of the buildings. The cold was setting in.

"So, how come you haven't gone full Holmes mode yet? I mean, you clearly know something from your real life, I'm just the Doctor at this point."

"It might have something to do with the fact that the serum wasn't injected all the way."

"Oh. That's really…Um.."

"Bit not good?"

"A bit not good, yeah. Basically, two personalities are going to fight each other in your brain-noggin, and since you are already exhibiting some of Sherlock's personality traits, it's going to be hard to control your impulses."

"Great."

"Really, all you have to say is 'Great'?"

"Can you take sarcasm, at all?"

"Only a little," Came a cheeky reply.

Corrupt was the word that came to Benedict's mind. Corrupt and brash in every sense of the word. His colleagues would suffer the same fate too. Untill he got an idea. An absolutely brilliant, mad idea. An idea he would have never gotten if it weren't for Sherlock's DNA coursing through his veins.

"Doctor?"

"Hm?"

"Do you know where Matt Smith lives?"


	4. The Doctor is 15 degrees

He couldn't sleep.

He was certainly weary from the day's misadventures, and David was out like a light, but the cold pavement didn't seem that appealing to Benedict. He was an hour away from his cozy home; and with his clothes swapped out, he was what you could call 'penniless'. So naturally, Benedict and David chose the closest, safest, area to retire for the night whilst being broke.

…Which happened to be an alleyway tucked away from the streets of London. He definitely was starting to question his own choice making abilities, especially the latest big choice—in the morning, they walk an hour over to Matt Smith's house, and hopefully save him from being kidnapped. The task was a feat in itself, but it was also a challenge; something that Benedict had begun to crave more and more in the past few hours. Another thing that was slowly taking over was his mind. His brain, as he soon found out, would simply not quiet down. Benedict could _feel_ himself going insane.

…He sort of liked it. His mind moved at an extremely slow pace before. Perhaps this serum is exactly what he needed….

He stopped himself there. That was the needle talking. Sanity was not on his side this evening. He had more important things to worry about. For example, where he was going to get his next smoke…

He had been trying to quit for about a month now, even remembering that his last cig was a week ago. But under all of the stress, he NEEDED one right about now. Thankfully the thugs thought of him while being kidnapped, as they included a lighter and half a pack in his coat jacket.

"Thanks." He muttered into the night sky, lighting the smoke and taking a drag.

"…You're welcome, Rose. Now we need t-" came a response from behind him. Benedict made a quick mental note that David/Doctor liked to sleep talk (quite coherently, he might add)

"It's so cold in here Rose. Don't worry about me though. My body temperature is 15 degrees…."

Blimey, he really did know a lot about the Doctor. Benedict wondered if David thought he had two hearts. He did observe, however, that he was lying in his sleep. The night was freezing, and David was huddled against the brick wall of the alley, shivering. He hated how he was now morally responsible for a 40 year old man who thinks he's a 900 year old Time lord.

"…_I think you should give him the jacket."_

"_Are you crazy? He has his own trench coat, he doesn't need mine as well.."_

"_Yes he does. He's freezing! You seem to be well off. I think you can manage a few hours without it."_

"_But it's MY Belstaff! It's mine!_

"_Listen to yourself, it's not YOUR Belstaff, it's a costume. It does not belong to you. It's on loan."_

"_From who, I may ask? I mean, you just sort of woke up and you were wearing it. Finders keepers."_

"_This Is not an argument of who's coat is who's. It is an argument of handing over the coat to David. He's your responsibility now."_

"_Why? Can't we just drop him off at an insane asylum?!"_

"_SHERLOCK! Technically they would take you too, since you are having a conversation with someone else in your head. Scitzo much?"_

The banter went on for some time in his head, and eventually he got so sick of his mind arguing with himself, he took off the coat in discust and layered the coat in a crumpled heap over Tennant's body. Christ, they even dressed him in that purple shirt that was just a tiny bit too small for him. He squished the cigarette remnants into the pavement, then slid down the opposing wall into a sitting position. It was going to be a long night…

That night, memories began to return to Benedict. Recollections of a childhood, and his family, and the faded past. There was one small problem. They were the fabricated memories of a Holmes child. He recalled his abusive father, his mother that was never there, his over protective arse of a brother Mycroft. He desperately tried to drown out the feigned memories, using any other of his personal memories to get riddance of the new plagued ones. With no avail, he soon found himself creating feelings for the fake characters. Not feelings, more of a certain hatred for each fictional being (exempt from this was Mummy. She was always pleasant, and smelled of vanilla at all times). Was this how Sherlock really thought? It scared Benedict, as it was getting extremely hard to control his own brain. His mind was a battlefield, and his army was slowly losing to THIS.

"…Benedict?"

"…"

"Benedict, wake up! I brought food!"

"I don't wanna."

"…Fine, if that's the way you want to be. SHERLOCK, up!"

"I SAID I'm sleeping!" He snapped awake, taking in his surroundings. David brought something edible, although he didn't exactly know what yet. He didn't dare ask how he got the funds. His coat neatly piled on his lap, meaning David had given it back sometime throughout the night.

"I don't need an extra coat, but thanks' for the offer. A Time lord's body heat IS 15 degrees, you know." Benedict shyly grinned.

"No, I didn't know that. Which way does Matt live, anyway?"

"I believe he lives an hour away in THAT direction! Off we go! Allons-y!" The Doctor exclaimed, pointing eastward.

* * *

**A/N: 15 degrees Celsius, mind you. That would be 59 degrees Fahrenheit. Hope you enjoyed :D**


	5. Matt Smith is tied up

"_But I would walk five hundred miles…_"

The duo had been walking for a long, excruciating number of 30 minutes, when David had decided to belt out his most annoying, favorite song that he had known with _no doubt_ come from the 'faraway planet of Sirena six'.

"_And I would walk five hundred more…"_

Something irked Benedict. It wasn't the horribly preformed song by his co partner, or the fact that he could now name a good ninety percent of elements on the periodic table. It was something deeper, in the intricate parts of his mind that bothered him.

The mind palace was beginning to form. Incredibly fast, apparently. What was considered normal thoughts were now being transformed and molded into objects that he would place in tidy, expansive rooms. Simultaneously, the process of deleting the useless information that cluttered his mind palace was taking place. And there was a LOT of useless information stored. Did he really need to remember anything about trigonometry? Probably not.

"_Just to be the man who walks a thousand mile—"_

"Please shut up, before I decide to rip out your intestines and wear them as a scarf."

"Party pooper. If you do that, I'll just regenerate!"

"…Into Matt Smith. Anyway, are we there yet? I'm getting extremely bored of walking."

"If you were going to get bored, you might as well have stayed back in that filth-hole humans like to call an alleyway. Quit complaining, this is a _journey!_ It's FUN!"

"Fun to get brainwashed by a madman who has nothing better to do?"

"Kind of. Besides, were almost there! You see that house over the hill into the distance?"

'The one with the van parked out front?"

"Exactly!"

"Doctor, those are the kidnappers. I recognize the van from earlier."

"Oh. Well, this is awkward."

"Great." Their trot soon became a run as they neared Matt's house. Sure enough, it was the exact same van that had been used to steal away Benedict. Although, he had noted that a different plate was being used this time. Benedict was convinced that his brain was a perpetual thought machine. And, knowing his character, he would soon get dreadfully bored. Holding off the boredom would only prolong the symptoms. He didn't need to treat the symptoms; he needed a cure for the origins of them. And no cure was in sight. As they neared the side of the lavish house, he observed something quaint.

"Don't you think that there would be noise of _some_ kind? Doesn't' it seem odd that the inside is dead quiet?"

"Well, what if he isn't in right now? That's a good possibility."

"Yes, but it's also a wrong possibility. They plan these break-ins to every last detail; they wouldn't just plan on a time that he wouldn't be here. They also didn't break in very quietly last time, remember? That leaves the only possibility to be—"

Benedict's explanation was cut short by the ungodly muffled cries of someone inside.

"—That. Wonder who that could be?"

"Oh! I see what you did there! WHO could it be!"

"Oh, very funny. It's always an appropriate time to crack a joke when our friend is TIED UP."

"Well, then DO something!"

"I AM!" they both peered through the outside window sitting right above them, looking into the scene. A misfortunate, gangly Matt smith was tied up against a chair, his mouth held shut with duct tape. Wide, Hazel eyes became even wider when he saw the pair outside.  
"Benedict?" Came a muffled call help.

"Now's our chance. Help me break this window."

"I'm sorry, what? Can't we just go in through the front door?"

"Not enough time. It's more dramatic this way." Ben quickly scanned the ground for a nearby rock. Finding one, he picks it up.

"You'd better duck."

"Okay!"

With a swing of the elbow, the stone soars through the air, shattering the window. This caught the attention of the nearby guards, and a very distraught Matt became sprayed with glass bits.

"Hello, I don't think you mind us crashing your little get together, do you?" He crawled through the broken window, falling on the floor like an ever stealthy ninja.

A friend (if he could even call it that) stepped from behind his hiding place.

"Oh, Hhllo Sherlock. I don't mind at all, actually. You came at the perfect time, actually! I was just going to inject this needle here in your friend, and you can watch!" Matt squirmed in place.

"Over my cold, dead, corpse, if you will."  
"My, hasn't someone gotten very brave overnight. Is that serum doing you any good?"

"Oh, it's only ruined my entire brain, thank you very much." He spat poison. A cruel smile hit the lips of the shadow. "Where's your pet? He should be around here somewhere."

"Quit trying to distract me. You can leave now. He's under my protection."

"Oh, is that what you think? In that case, I'd better leave. I wouldn't want to get on your _bad side_. See ya later!"

With a snap of his fingers, the mystery man left. He was just _gone_. Ben couldn't explain it.

"Now, let's get you untied. Extremely sorry about all of this…" He ripped off the tape holding his mouth shut.

"OW!"

"Sorry."

"Benedict, what are you doing here? Also, what is _he_ doing here?"

David waved from outside of the broken glass.

"I think the more important question is, did you get poked with a hypodermic of any kind?"  
"...No. They were going to do that?"

"Good, you're safe. For now, anyway."

"For now? Would you care to explain all of this over a cup of tea?"

"Sure." Undoing the last knot, a triumphant Matt stood up.

"And I guess Tennant can come in too."

"WHOOO HOOO! I got invited into an actor's house! I'm just meeting loads of famous people today!"

"Sorry about him, he's kind of gone insane."

"…I can tell."

* * *

"..He's becoming a problem. A stupid thorn in my side. First he gets away with my list and keys, and NOW he decides to be the hero and save everyone's precious little personalities.

"But, Sir, that was in the DNA. What did you expect out of Sherlock?"

"..I don't know. Something less heroic. It didn't help that he's retained his memories as Benedict. We need to rid of him. Send him off our path. WITHOUT killing him. I have a plan.

"And that plan is?"

"Send in the troops to Matt's again. More of them. Make it so they can't fight back. That way we can drag him back here."

"…Yes, Sir."


	6. Benedict is clever (and interrupting)

"B-But that's IMPOSSIBLE!" Matt shrieked.

Benedict was now staring into the mirror in Smith's bathroom, glaring at his newfound problem. His hair. Usually such trivial things such as his hair didn't matter in a time of such urgency, but this was the exception. His locks of ginger were converting themselves into thicker, onyx curls at the roots. It felt like he had dyed his hair so many times, the hair was now doing the job for him.

"Whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth," Rolled off of Benedict's tongue in reply. Oh, how wonderful. He was now saying _catchphrases._ "Hopefully this problem doesn't grow too much out of control. I didn't know the transformation included physical properties as well. Interesting. I should do an experiment…"

"Yeah, I sort of believe you now, with the whole 'turning into Sherlock' bit. I still have my skepticisms of course, but I—"

"You believe me. Good. I'm not going crazy."

"Could you try and not finis—"

"Nope. Sorry Matt, you're quite predictable."

**BANG.**

"Uh, guys? Not to interrupt your interruption conversation, but I _think_ we might be in trouble." David Screeched.

An audible sigh from Ben. "How many of them David."

"I think three. They have closed off all of the exits. We're trapped."

Matt and Benedict dashed out of the washroom and into the room where David was hiding away

"Doctor, that isn't going to help. They already know we are here."

"I know. White flag when we need one?"

"We aren't going to sur—"

**BANG BANG.**

"—render. How the hell do you get guns in London? Everyone to the kitchen. Head's down. I have a plan.

"And what might that plan be, get us killed maybe?"

"They won't kill us; we are their stupid science projects! They NEED us in perfect health. Kitchen, NOW."

"Maybe it's safer here. We don't know…"

**BANG.**

"Okay, I agree with you. Kitchen away!

The trio army-crawled their way into the safety of the kitchen. Faint footsteps could be heard from upstairs.

"_You know, this is getting hard. Being part Benedict, I mean. Your part of the mind works so SLOW. Would you care if I start deleting some of your childhood memories to make it run faster?"  
"YES I WOULD MIND. This is my head, after all. Some of those are important!"_

"_Hmm, was preschool important? Because it doesn't look like it. I'm just going to go ahead and delete that."_

"_I told you, you can't just go off deleting things! They—"  
"They are very sentimental, I know. Sentimental is a bad habit, you know. I can break you from that mindset. All you have to do is focus, and it's gone. I can help you. Make you stronger. You should really take that offer up."_

"_Piss off."_

"_My, haven't you gotten quite rude over the last 24 hours? Isn't the juxtaposition brilliant?"_

"_I said to go sod off. I don't need you."_

"_Very well."_

The inner banter was beginning to become unbearable.

"So, what's the plan, Sherlock?"

The three were huddled in the kitchen, wondering what to do next.

"The solution is simple. We fight back."

"WHAT?!" came two replies in unison.

"Ben, they have GUNS. Actual shooty-wooty guns. I really don't feel like getting shot up. I already know what that feels like. Not the best regeneration I've ever had."

"Since when did you get a death wish?"

The heavy footfalls crept closer and closer, and the boys were forced into a low wisper.

"Yesterday, I guess. Matt, do you have any alcohol in your fridge?"

"Someone is coming to drag us away, and you want to get _drunk_? Brilliant."

"Not like THAT. Just tell me."

"Just some leftover brandy, that's all. I'm not much of a drinker."

"That'll do. Pass me the bottle."

The bottle switched hands, and with a turn of a cap, Benedict took a swig of the potent liquid. The thug was right over the counter. They would have seconds to do something.

"I thought you said you weren't going to drink it…"

"I'm not. By the way, you have an excellent taste in alcohol."

"Oh… Thank you?"

* * *

"….HE DID WHAT?!"

"He spat brandy at us, while holding a cigarette lighter in front of the stream. It made a flamethrower. Singed me eyebrows off, boss!"

"…Clever. Stupidly clever. He's getting smart. I assume him, Doctor, and Smith have escaped?

"…Yes, sir."

"Shit. Wait, where did he get the lighter from? None of his friends smoke, and we didn't give it to him."

"Don't ask me, I just work here. "

"We need to delay him. Make him slow down somehow. I have just the man for it."

"Oh, really? "

"Really. We are going to deviate from our planned list. I want you to kidnap someone by the name of Andrew Scott. Make it quick.

"Yes, sir."


	7. Andrew Scott is joining the party

**Come and play. –M**

**Actually, forget that last text. Help me.**

The text ringtone cut the thick essence of silence in the car. Matt had volunteered to drive the two to Martin Freeman's home; as he resided a couple hours away, and they lacked a various type-40 TARDIS for transportation. Benedict was surprised when he found out that they had planted an exact replica phone from the show on him. Every last detail was planned to perfection and scrutinized over. Whoever was behind this scheme was certainly trying to make an impression. He pulled out the cell phone, anticipating anything and everything.

"Moriarty texted, he wants to see us. Could you detour our trip?" Came a nonchalant question from the back.  
_SCREEEEEEEEECH. _The car jerked to a standstill, and both Matt and David looked on from their front row seats.

"WHAT?" Benedict looked up from his phone to see confused, dismayed faces staring at him.

"Oh, is that not good?"

"Well, for starters, it's Andrew Scott, not Moriarty."

"Oh."

"He's been injected? He wasn't on the list… You aren't going."

"Why not? I'm a big boy; I can clearly handle this situation."

"No, you CAN'T. He probably has gone full crazy by now. You know how he acts on the show. You'll get killed. He wants to KILL you."

"We don't know that yet. I'm sending him a reply."

**Where are you at?**

He had to stop himself from putting '–SH' at the bottom. Less than a minute later came a reply.

**The parking lot that you are nearing. Please hurry.**

"…How? Nevermind that. Pull over."

"You aren't going to meet him Sher—uh, Ben. I'm not going to stop this car until we get to Martin's like you said. We are on a tight agenda, remember?"

By the time Matt had finished his sentence, the car door was wide open and Benedict was nowhere to be seen.

"Wonderful, he did a tuck and roll out of the car. He's going to kill himself."

"Do you think we should stay here?"

"We don't have a choice. He is the brains of the operation."

"How long should we give him?"

"I say ten minutes."

"Sure… Hey, you ever been to the planet Arcadia before? It's Brilliant! The skies are cloudless and the diamonds are…. "

Matt sighed. This was going to be a long ten minutes.

"Andrew?"

Fog was setting in as Benedict took long strides about the pavement, looking for any possible signs of life. This was a 'stupid idea of monumental proportions' as Benedict would put it. He could have a gun, or a knife, or some sort of device that would help meet his unruly end. All he had was a flimsy lighter and an annoying brain full of witty comebacks. Wary of his every step, he looked behind every car for Jim. This was certainly not the time for a game of hide and seek. That is, until Ben hit his foot against a breathing, sniveling, Irish mass curled up on the ground.

"Andrew? What are you doing down there?"

"Sherlock. You made it. You didn't abandon me!"

"Uhh, why wouldn't I?" He sat down, propped up against a random car. This was pointless, but Andrew was his friend. Moriarty was his mortal enemy. He felt like he was defusing a bomb.

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. I killed you in the show, remember? I'm going insane. These people came—And-"

"I know how the story goes, they kidnap you and then they inject some sort of serum in you. Now, let's get you off of the pavement and get you standing up and looking proper, hm?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Andrew sniffled, then stood to his full height. Pity, since they didn't even clothe him in his Westwood apparel.

"Now, what can I help you with? Perhaps getting you back to your house?"

"Ooooorrrr, I can just pull out a gun and threaten you to come along with me." Lo and behold, Andrew decides to just pull out a handgun, aiming it at Benedict's head.

Shit.

"I was promised an antidote if I brought you back alive. I've only gone an hour and I can't take the psychopathic tendencies any more. You are my savior, Sherlock."

Antidote?

There was an _antidote?_

"Oh. They only injected half of the serum. You respond to Andrew still. A full serum dose would erase your memories. They intentionally made you insane. They promised a cure, but only if you brought me back to their base. I'm harming their plan. So they change their plan to include my kryptonite. How nice. Oh, and that gun you are holding is clearly a fake."  
"And how does smartypants know this?"

"I…I don't know, really. Somehow I know this stuff, and I think it comes with the injection. I've gotta dash; I have a friend to save. Laters."

"I have a gun pointed to your head, and you are just going to walk away from me? Like that?"

"Yup. You can come along if you wish."

"…Come…Along?"

"Yeah. We have Matt smith, a 900 year old Timelord, and Sherlock Holmes. Coming?"

'Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Just use your own willpower and try to ward off the effects of the injection, okay?"

"How is it you haven't had that much of a problem with the effects? I've been absolutely crazed by them, and I haven't even gone two hours. You've gone a LOT longer, I can tell."

"I don't know. Good question, but not one that needs to be answered at the moment."

"You have got to be kidding me," Smith spat.

Benedict and Andrew buckled their seat-belts, prepared to go save the day together. He was one of them now.

"No, I'm not. Did you expect me to leave him there on the cold ground? Because that's highly rude."

"You two are going to murder each other by day's end!"

"It will be fine. We can take care of ourselves. Can't we, Sherly?"

"Exactly. Let's continue our crusade to Martin's. Off we go. Chop chop."

"…I'm not your chauffeur, Ben."

"You were the one who volunteered to drive this crazy train around!"

"EVERYONE, SHUT UP!" David yelled from his front seat. "We should all sing a song together!"

With a collective sigh, Matt drove out of the parking lot, and began driving toward Martin Freeman's house. For the time being, he was stuck as the child sitter of the group. Why him?

* * *

_Dear reader:_

_Last chapter, if you saw it, you might have picked up an inconsistency with an earlier part of the story. All I have to say on the ordeal is that everything written is how it's planned out. It's inconsistent for a good reason. If you spotted it, good on you. Thank you for reading my story._

_-The Author_


	8. Sherlock is corrupt

As soon as they pulled up to Martin Freeman's driveway, Benedict could tell something wasn't right.

For starters, it was much too quiet. The kidnappers were often noisy and clumsy in their ways, and would make a mess of things.

Also, another thing wrong was that Benedict was making full blown deductions now. The final piece of the puzzle was complete; his mind was now an unstoppable thinking storm, doing anything it could possibly do to get more information. He might as well start feeding his new addiction, before the boredom sets in. So Benedict does the only logical thing to do in the moment.

He begins _willingly_ making deductions.

He could only hold off the part of Sherlock that made him actually Sherlock for so long. He hated it, and at the same time, he loved having the ability. He was a man of walking contradiction.

"This isn't right. Where is the van? Why is it so silent?"

"I don't know, maybe we beat them to Martin's?"

"Not likely. They had the upper hand. I'm getting out to investigate. You can follow if you want to."

"…Stupid crazy sceme. I guess I'm in."

"As am I! Another person saved is a good day for the Doctor!"

"And you, Andrew?"

"I'm content with the car, thank you."  
"Stay in the car, okay?"

"Yes, _mummy._ It's not like there's anything better to do, anyway."

"Good. I'll be right back."

The trio tiptoed their way to the front door. The more time went on, the more Benedict began to worry. His intuition was telling him that something was incredibly off. His mind was primed and his body was tensed as he slowly opened the front door (Which happened to be unlocked, it only made the whole ordeal worse for Ben,). They crept inside, expecting the worst.

…They received the worst.

'Martin? Are you in there?" He swung the door wide open, letting himself as well as his friends inside the home. The tele was off, the tea was cold, and Martin was sleeping soundly on the couch.

…In John Watson's apperal.

"…John?"

"…Ben, we're too late. "

They sat in silence. One of his best friends had been hit with the same DNA that he had been injected with. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Why was a madman destroying innocent people's lives? In his anger and frustration, he found a note sitting neatly on the coffee table sitting nearby. No doubt from the idiot who decided to make this nightmare come alive. He pocketed it while the other two were focused on something else.

And then the detective figured it out.

"…It's not Martin, guys. It's John."

"Excuse me?"

"The clothes. They put them on me and David, but they were running out of time. They began to get sloppy in their work. Both Matt and Andrew had to go without, to save time. So why did they put John in his signature jumper? They couldn't have, they had no time. His name isn't Martin, its John. Only conclusion that makes sense."

"But he's right THERE Ben. There's no possible way that this is John Watson. He's a fictional character, remember?"

"Where is his Oyster card then?"  
"Oyster card?"

"Obviously. Martin can't DRIVE, you idiot. So he takes the tube. But his Oyster Card is nowhere in sight. He left, because it should be where he hangs his keys, but it's gone. I didn't see it on the way in."

"…My god. He's gone insane. Is Benedict still in there, Sherlock?"  
"Don't pity me, I need no pity. This man is John Watson, not Martin Freeman!"

"…We should probably take him back to the car, before he decides to go do something stupid."

"LISTEN TO ME! My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am NOT crazy! This man is clearly John Watson!"

Worried glances were passed between David and Matt. Oh, he had said the wrong thing again.

He couldn't believe his friends. Why wouldn't they reason with him? Was he really demented? No, he was right. This man was Watson, and Freeman was out. He didn't know how Martin and John could co-exist, but it was the only solution. A solution that nobody else saw. He was tired of living like this. He was the only one who saw the answer; everyone was so SLOW around him. Watson was right in front of them.

…Right?

Matt put a hand on Benedict's shoulder.

"Ben, why don't we go and stop this—"

**WHAM.**

He really didn't mean to. But Matt was REALLY getting on his nerves, making fake accusations without fact checking, or listening for that matter.

And now he was on the floor, because Ben had punched him. David stared blankly at the Consulting detective, before he ran off.

He dashed to the closet, yanking them open to reveal their goodies. Rummaging through old coats and shirts, he finally found what he was looking for. A walking stick for hiking purposes. He ran over to the still sleeping (and presumably drugged) Watson, and gently placing it down by his side. He was going to need it when he woke.

"Oi, you're just going to leave me here to attend to him?" David asked.

He never got his answer, as the actor who was no longer acting had left the home.

"So, how did it go? Where's Matt and Martin and the Doctor?"

Benedict jumped into the driver's seat of Matt's car. He couldn't believe he was going to do this. Luckily, He had left the keys in the ignition.  
"Oh, they won't be joining us for this trip. Read this address out for me when I'm driving."  
He passed the now crinkled paper over to Andrew, who swiped the paper before reading it.

"Benedict? This address goes to their base of operations."  
"I know. Also…"

"Yes, Ben?"

"Call me Sherlock from now on."

With a twist of a key, the smaller party of two started their adventure.

* * *

**A/N: YAAY two updates today for the price of one. Enjoy.  
**


	9. The gauntlet is introduced

"_I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind,_

_There was something so pleasant about that place._

_Even your emotions had an echo,_

_In so much space."_

Gnarls Barkley-Crazy

* * *

A weight had been lifted.

Not literally, of course. But something about losing the will to fight his internal conflicts made everything so much _easier._ Sherlock was taking the path of least resistance; which was naturally letting the programming take over. He justified this decision by telling himself that Benedict was still inside of him somewhere, between the mass of thoughts coursing through his brain. He wasn't gone; he just wasn't in control either. Oh, how Sherlock craved to be in control, as his former self held the reigns tightly until that punch. The sweet, savory feeling of power over his real self would only last so long, however, as he was speeding toward the final destination. The base of the 'bad guy', where he would kill for this so-called antidote. Sherlock knew he wasn't meant for this world, and a perfectly good body shouldn't be wasted on him. He had a feeling that if Benedict was in his place, he would be doing the same thing, just less efficiently.

"You know, I could kill you in an instant." Moriarty piped up from the back seat, twiddling his thumbs**.**

"You have no plan, no back up pointing lasers at my head, and a fake gun. A rock has a better chance of killing me then you do."

"Would you like to make a bet on that assumption? I would love to try."

Sherlock groaned. Why DID he bring him along again? Oh, he didn't. He was just dragged along for the ride, injected like the rest of us, only doing what his brain is telling him to do. Pity, since Andrew is a relatively nice being comparative to others. To be taken over by something as foul and damaging as Moriarty was a shame.

"I'm getting BORED. Sherly, are we there yet? I want to get my antidote before I decide to blow something up."

"Almost. Just let me turn in here. Did the note say anything else, other than an address?"

"Yeah. Other then the address, all it says is 'Come and play'. Hey, that's MY line!"

Sherlock blew a ragged curl out of his eyes before pulling in. Christ, the DNA was really taking a toll, as the black parts of his hair had grown down to the point where it was in his peripheral vision. The car came to a halt, and Sherlock jumped out into the gravel lot.

"Nobody is out here. Shall we go in?"

"Whatever floats your boat. I'm staying in the car."

"Oh, no you aren't. You're my responsibility now."

"Since when?"

"Since now. Out."

He opened the back door to the car, and Andrew gave him the glare of death.

"You heard me."

"You heard me," came a mocking reply, before Andrew stepped out.

The two stared at the towering building. A simple storehouse, refurbished into the hiding place for an unnamed villain. The evening chill began to set in, as Sherlock had to tighten his scarf around his neck. Was it really the evening? Obviously he had skipped lunch in pursuit of everyone, making the last time he ate was the morning. Unsurprisingly, he wasn't hungry. The giant door looming in front of Sherlock and Jim signaled the beginning of the end. There was a good chance that the mastermind was tucked away in this building, waiting for the final confrontation. And if he wasn't?

…Sherlock didn't want to think about that right that instant.

They swung open the doors, letting the darkness of the interior sink in. These guys _really_ disliked lighting. They slowly stepped in; anticipant little solders ready to face their maker. The doors slammed shut behind them, leaving them in the pitch.

All above them, lights began to flicker before turning on completely. More and more of the room they were in were revealed to them. The ceilings loomed overhead, and storage boxes of all shapes and sizes created the impression of a storage facility. This was going to be a pain, Sherlock could tell. Before either of them could make a statement, an intercom killed the silence.  
"_Greetings, Sherlock and Jim, to my party! Well, it isn't MUCH of a party, as I don't have any guests yet. You two are my first visitors! Don't worry about me though; I have rounded up the friends you DITCHED at John's. Welcome to my labyrinth! The rules are simple. If Mr. Holmes can make it through my gauntlet, I'll give you the antidote to your little conundrum! If he can't, well..._

_Let the games begin!"_

* * *

**_A/N: So, this is a short chapter. And I'm sorry for that. I attempted to switch from something more light-hearted to something more ramble-ish to show the reflection between the change of Benedict to Sherlock. Meh. Hope you enjoy!  
_**


	10. A choice is offered

A gauntlet was an understatement.

Sherlock and Jim had been going in circles for HOURS. It wasn't their fault, the place was just impossible to navigate. Lights flickered on and off at the most inconvenient times, storage crates seemed to move, and that taunting voice over the intercom criticized their every move. The entire maze was slowly wearing down Sherlock's wits, making the process ever more tedious. Getting out of the mangled mess was not an option, as the door was long gone. A strange item here, a creepy noise there. He soon passed by a hallway of mirrors.

It was amazing how a simple personality change could completely change the body language of a person. As soon as he saw a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he straightened out, putting his hands behind his back like he Sherlock normally does. Upon closer inspection, his curly mop of hair had almost been completely blackened; as only the tips of the curls remained ginger. He peered into his cold, unreadable eyes, and they stared back, always observing. For a second, maybe less, a flash of Benedict's emotions flashed on his face, letting warmth into his eyes. A wisp of hope. Benedict was hopeful.

…Sherlock knew something as simple as 'hope' couldn't get him through this. It was going to take skill, and wit. He continued to trudge on into the bleakness.

Sherlock soon figured 'it' out. To confirm his suspicions, he began speaking to nothing in particular.

"Why are you doing this? You could have very well just denied us our freedom from insanity. But you keep us running. Why?"

"_Well, YOU'RE the one with all the answers. Figure it out for yourself."_

"This is a psychological trap. Something to slow us down, something to delay the final confrontation with you. Every period of darkness, every twist and turn, is planned."

"_Excellent assumption, Mr. Holmes. Would you like proof that your assumption is correct?"_

"I don't need proof."

"_Oooh. Bold statement. Here's the evidence anyway, since I already planned it out. Why would I waste a perfect opportunity to torture you?"_

"**BENEDICT?!**"

"Ben, **PLEASE** help! Sherlock?! Anyone!"

The cries from his friends echoed from the distance. He could always go and save them, but something might be lurking right behind them ready to make his life miserable. Of course, it could have always been a recording…. But they were his _friends!_ Well, they were Benedict's dear friends. Sherlock didn't have any (except John, different story for a different day). It seems a part of Benedict was still shining through. His morality.

…Stupid Morality.

"…My friends, what did you do to them?"

"_Oh, nothing really. Just locked them up in a cage. You could always go, I don't know, SAVE THEM. Since you left them at John's. Did I mention he's in there too? I'm also surprised you didn't say anything about Jim, either."_

Crap. Andrew was missing. Sherlock charted it off, as he had more important things to fret about.

"_Hurry up and make a choice! You are so DULL and indecisive. Makes me want to watch reality TV."_

"Fine, you want me to make a choice?" He swiftly turned away from the pleads for help, dashing away from the problem. He couldn't tell whether he was making the right or wrong choice anymore.

"_Just what do you think you are doing?"_

"It's planned. You want me to go that direction. I'm going to find you first before I worry about them. Simple, really."

"_Wow. That DNA really did wonders on you. You're even as cold-hearted as you are on the show. This next choice should be simple then. "_

"And what exactly are you going to make me choose?"

"_How cute. You expect me to reveal my plan to you. Wait ten minutes, and if you can still bear the whines of your trapped friends, I'll let you choose."_

It was almost impossible, listening to his helpless friends go un-answered over the short time span. Sherlock knew that feelings and morals were a horrible disadvantage in a situation like this, and yet his unbreakable will had become shattered by the means of Benedict. Maybe being part Ben was a bad thing. Sherlock saw nothing but cons in the terms of the actor's humanity. Sherlock did the only thing he could possibly do to calm his nerves.

…Which was sit down, and pull out a cigarette. Sometimes the best comforts in life were the simplest.

"_I was wondering earlier, Where DID you get that lighter? None of your silly little friends smoke, so they couldn't lend it to you…"  
_"Are you serious? I found it in my pocket the night you kidnapped me, YOU were the one who gifted it to me."

"_Erm, No. I wouldn't give you something that would have been potentially a weapon._"

"Well you DID give me Sherlock's mind. But... How did it get there?"

"_Not your problem. How do you feel, Sherlock?"_

"Like a rat in a maze." He took a drag.

"_Well, would the little rat like his cheese? I have a proposition for you."_

"Does this 'proposition' of yours include getting out of this hellhole you would call a labyrinth?"

"_No. Look behind you."_

Sherlock obliged, and another light above him shined down to reveal a table.

"_See that table? It has all of your hopes and dreams on it. Not the antidote itself, but the ingredients to make it."_

"Oh? Well…"

"_I'm not done yet. The ingredients are not portioned out properly; there might even be some fake ones in the mix. It's up to you to figure out the concoction."_

"Oh, how _simple_. I just have to—"He paused. If there was a worse moment to forget his extensive background in chemistry, he couldn't remember.

"…_Have to what? Did you fail to recognize that Sherlock's memories aren't yours, Benedict? That's where the good bit comes into play. You see, we both know that you aren't Sherlock; that you aren't COMPLETE yet. Your background thoughts can only go so far."_

"Oh? If you give me enough time I'm certi—"

"_Not an option, Sherlock. On the table I have also placed an old friend of yours. Remember that half used needle you decided to just throw across the room? I have also placed it on the table. It contains the rest of the serum. The rest of the memories and information you NEED to figure out how to create the antidote. That adrenaline high? The raw power of deduction that's permanently yours? It will always linger with you, till your ill-fated death. I'm giving you the chance to become a full blooded Holmes. You have a choice to make. I do hope you make the correct choice. Good day."_

This day, Sherlock (as well as inner Benedict) noted, was the worst day of his existence.

* * *

**A/N: Blame Reddit and Animal Crossing as to why this is late. Also, I'm sorry for holding you on another cliffhanger. I am working at an increased pace to write the next chapter; as I wanted this chapter to be combined with the next one. Have an internet cookie for making it this far.  
**


	11. A choice is made

"_Well, aren't we in a pickle."_

Sherlock stared at the needle that was held ever so delicately on the table.

"_We have two options here. We can either collectively retain our memories, and go straight for that idiot's hiding place…"_

"…_Or we can search for a cure. I WOULD be highly adept at figuring it out myself, if not for YOU. That's okay though, I'm in control. I'll just inject this needle he—"_

"_No!"_

"_Oh, you now LIKE being Benedict? Make up your mind, or I'll make it for you."  
"I __have__ made up my mind. You aren't going to touch that poison."_

"_One man's poison is another man's cure."_

"_You don't even know if a cure is possible. It's been promised, sure, but we have seen no real evidence if it exists. The contents on the table could very well be bleach and vodka, for all that I care."_

"_Okay, so the best case scenario is that I inject myself, and there's a cure and I save everyone from insanity. Worst case is that I inject myself and it's all a fake. At least I don't have to deal with your poor excuse of arguing. "_

"_Listen to yourself! Justifying insanity like you're better off or something. You are an ACTOR, Ben. Did you not get the memo that says an actor can't just run around London solving crimes?"_

"_Oh, but I could! And I would be brilliant at it! You're the one holding me back. It's about time I get rid of this second voice."  
"You can't just do this to me!"_

"_Hm? Can't do what to you? Just pick up this here needle and possibly press the tip against my cold, thin arm?"_

The needle was picked up, held by incredibly long fingers, ready to make their decision.

"_Every memory I've ever had, every story, every person I've ever met! You're willing to just delete it all for a fake dream? You can't live like this!"_

"_With no memories of Benedict, I won't know otherwise. Goodnight, Ben."_

The overcoat was taken off, thrown on the floor. Sherlock began rolling up the royal purple fabric, revealing the inner elbow.

"_NO! YOU CAN'T! MY NAME IS BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH AND YOU WILL NOT—"_

"_I'm sorry, Ben. I want to save them. Please forgive me."  
_He inched the needle ever so closer. If his better half had anything to say, now would be the last time he would say it.

"…_What about Martin?"_

"_Martin? What about him?"_

"_With my memories erased, you will erase him as well. As well as the others, but Martin is important. You said yourself that John was in Martin's house, not the man himself."_

"_So?"_

"_You will never work with him again. You will never REMEMBER him. He's one of your best friends, Benedict. You can't abandon friends."_

He lowered the needle.

"_ He wants you to become Sherlock, that's his scheme that you are falling for. __And, as much as an antidote would help, wouldn't you rather go after the guy who hurt your friends? He drugged John, Sherlock. He tied David and Matt up; he made your arch enemy come to life. He won't stop, unless you stop him. Don't confront him because he made your life a living hell. Confront him because he made your friend's lives a living hell."_

The solid plink of the dropped needle repercussed throughout the room, as Benedict stood there, wondering what to do next. He needed both personas to succeed.

"Well, it seems you have made up your mind. Congratulations. My guess is that the serum will completely take over anyway in about 10 minutes, so your choice was not a good one. Oh, I'm not telling you where I am hiding; you can figure that out yourself. Or you can starve to death in the warehouse. Your choice."

"Oh, I know exactly where you are hiding. I'm coming for you."

"HA. You think you know where I am? You might as well tell me now. I promise I won't move. I'm getting tired of watching you, anyway."

Sherlock pointed at an object hanging off of the wall. An intercom.

"You have been using intercoms to communicate to me this entire time. Which is fine and dandy, except there's one thing you forgot."

"Which is?"

"You forgot to conceal the wires that transmit the signal to the speakers. Considering you are talking to me at this current moment, these wires will lead me back to your location, where you are waiting. Like Theseus and the Minotaur."

"…Shit."

"I'll be there in five."

* * *

**A/N: The beginning of the end.**


	12. The Villain is revealed

**So, a quick little warning: Someone does get killed in this chapter.**

* * *

"Hello, Sherlock."

Here he was. Just 24 hours earlier he was Benedict Cumberbatch, a charming man who was quickly rising to fame. Now here he was, Sherlock Holmes, meeting the man who had demented him.

"…"

He still didn't have anything to say to the man, even if he was holding back every insult on his tongue. His friends pleading on the chairs behind him seemed to fill that gap nicely. Sherlock almost wanted to tell them to shut up. But where was Andrew? He was nowhere in the bunch, probably hiding from the madman before him. Let him have his moment of peace before the real effects start showing.

"You know, you really don't have to keep that quiet game … It is horrible boring talking to someone who doesn't at least fight back."

"…"

"Oh, Sherlock. We both know that shyness isn't your true self… anymore. What used to be commonplace is now but a faded memory, diluted by your deductions. Acting, much?"

"Only a little. I am still Benedict, you know. "

"Impressive… you still have some willpower. It's soon to be broken. Do you even remember your parent's names?"

'…No." He hated to admit it, but his mind was drawing a blank. _Why couldn't he remember?_

"…It seems your memory has eroded. So sad. Only a matter of minutes before you are complete."

"Complete? What do you need me _complete _for?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just people like you make a pretty penny. Resilience, however, is slowing this process down. Guards, tie him up with the others."

Forceful hands came from the dark, pushing Sherlock against the wall. The end was near."No, you can't! I just spent 2 hours running your maze, I deserve my rew—"

"HELLO, boys! Glad I could join in!"

The crisp, thick air revealed a shadow from the dark. Sherlock recollected the voice; although he couldn't remember the name behind it. Adriac, Adam… For god sakes, this was not the time to forget everything like an amnesiac!

"Ah, hello Andrew."

Ah. Close, but no Cigar. Andrew crept out of the dark, alert and wide eyed. If Moriarty was his savior, then Sherlock must be in hell. There was something odd about him. Maybe it was the evil glint in his eyes, or maybe it was the way he held himself.

…Maybe it was the fact he was holding a gun in his hands.

"Well, here I am. I brought him for you."

"So?"

"So, you promised me an antidote if I brought him back alive. He's standing RIGHT there, not a scratch on him. I politely ask you to hand it over. I DO have a gun."

"Ah, silly Jim. You and I are a lot alike; more then you know. That is a fake gun, by the way."

"Then why did you give it to me?"

"HA. I gave it to you so it would be easier to bring Sherlock back."

"To be fair, I did see through that pretty easily…" The people holding him should _really_ loosen their grip. The continued muffled cries of his comrades did not bode the situation well.

"So, what if I were to, I don't know, just pull the trigger right now?"

"Nothing would happen, and then we would cage you. Simple. You have no plan worth a damn, a fake gun, and your team is a little tied up. What are you going to do, stare me to death? You DARE go against your master?"

"Maybe. Your second biggest downfall was creating a detective who could solve anything and everything. Your largest downfall, however, was creating that detectives' arch enemy."

"Oh boo-hoo. I MADE all of you. I hope you realized that, other than inject you; I have broken or killed nothing. Aren't I a kindly creator?"

"…What about John?" Sherlock piped up.

"..Martin? He was out of town. We were running out of time, it was a waste of our energy to go hunt him down."

Confused glances passed between the group. But, he was THERE?! How could the antagonist not see John?

"Quit rambling. I want my antidote. _Before _I shoot."

"Shoot all you like, you aren't getting it from me."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"_Because there is no antidote, you idiot._"

"WHAT?!" Blurted Sherlock.

…This adventure was for _nothing?_ Then again, the hooded figure could be lying but—

"I dare you to say that again."

It was out of the question whether Andrew was sane or not.

Andrew had snapped.

"The only reason I made you run around like chickens with their heads cut off, is because _there is no—"_

Through all the yelling and squirming of his tied up friends, Sherlock thought he saw something. A fleeting shadow in the background. He was making things up, right?

**BANG.**

"—Antidote."

The cloaked figure fell to the ground, muddled red cloak and all. A single bullet, through his cold beating heart. The wound was perfectly aligned, and Sherlock wondered if Andrew was an excellent marksman. Certainly he would have to have been, to make that shot. The guards released their grip. It was all over.

"WHAT?!" Came a deafening shriek from across the dim room. Ah, only Andrew freaking out. He threw the murder weapon across the room. "You said yourself that the gun was a FAKE! It wasn't supposed to work!"

Sherlock should have been alarmed that his friend had just killed someone, but he wasn't. It was a nice adrenaline rush. He dashed to the tied up clan, ready to help them in any way possible.

"He killed someone. He actually killed someone." A now untied Matt was panicking; he had every right to.

"You could have spared him…"David squeaked from his chair. Oh, if anyone was going to get emotional over someone killing someone else, it had to be the Doctor. Or he took on an acute case of Stockholm syndrome.

"I didn't mean to! The gun isn't real! Besides, I saved you guys. I should be thanked, not berated!"

"Guys, we have a problem…" Sherlock peered over the body, his heartbeat soaring as he was in front of his true passion: investigating crime scenes.

"Oh? Other than a dead person on the ground? Police aren't going to be too happy when they get here. Did you ever get that thought stuck in your head?"

"It's worse than that. Come take a look."

They all stood over their dead captor, wary of the puddles of blood around the body. They were going to be in deep trouble. With one big swoop, Sherlock removed the hood that had ever so obtrusive to the culprits face.

"…No."

"T-That's impossible! "

"WHAT."

For, the person behind the cloak was none other than Jim Moriarty.

"HOW? I mean, I'm right here! How can I shoot myself with a fake gun?!"

"..How is it that two of you even exist? Do you have an evil twin or something?"

"No, just two sisters. This is impossible!"

"Personality changing using a serum consisting of DNA is impossible. At least it should be."

"..We should at least make our respects to the dead." David sighed, then leaned over the doppelganger to close his cold, lifeless eyes. "Why did I even help you guys?"

"..There is no antidote. Great. There go our last hopes. We are all going to die crazy, except for Matt… Sherlock, what do you think of—"

'I'll be right back." He stood from his crouching position, then began to head off in the direction he saw the shadow. This was his final thread of hope.

"Where are you going?"  
"To do some investigating, obviously. You can stay here, for all I care. Just don't follow me."

"You're just going to leave us with a dead body that looks exactly like Andrew?"

"Yup."

Sherlock had a theory that he prayed was correct. When everyone else saw turmoil and panic, he saw hope.

Perhaps having Benedict in his mind wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

**So, there are going to be two endings to this, because I'm indecisive :P It took a day longer then usual; stupid writer's block. Thank you to EVERYONE who supports this.**


	13. An explanation is given

Following a shadow, Sherlock had to admit, was a teensy bit fun.

…Only a teensy bit. The man in front of him seemed to know where he was going, as every twist and turn down the hallways seemed definite and analyzed. He followed suit quickly, mimicking the stranger and all of his delicate moves. He had no idea _why_ exactly he was following this man, but a strange feeling bubbled to the surface; that this was destined to happen. Light began to shine through the cracks overhead. This was the exit, Sherlock was sure of it. He would have to inform the others later.

…A multitude of twists and turns later, and he found the way out. It wasn't what he was looking for, but it was something to hang onto while he recollected himself. It was just now hitting him that he would never be the same again. Constantly riddled with a monster of a brain that enveloped itself in whatever information it found, he would be forever insane, fighting instincts previously unknown to him. And what about David and Andrew? They weren't in a better spot, as—

"_Hello."_

He jumped in his place, a sign of uneasiness. _Someone _was behind him that sounded oddly familiar. Every impulse was telling him to just run away, leave the shadow behind.

Sherlock doesn't really listen to his gut. He slowly turned around to see a lanky, tall man sitting against the wall, looking like he had nothing to lose.

"I believe you deserve an explanation. Come over here, Benedict."

That deep, chocolate smooth voice rang out, calling him.

_It was HIM_.

Well, himself. He couldn't explain it really. First there were two Moriarty's, and now there was an exact clone of him just sitting against a wall like this sort of thing happened every other day. So Sherlock did the only thing he could do. He sat down across from the clone.

"…How are you possible?"

"Ha, the past day you have been running around saving everyone from an unbelievable injection that theoretically shouldn't work, you watched your friend KILL someone who turned out to be an exact replica of himself, and you faced an inner battle with your head! Now is the time where you start questioning the probability of me? Why don't you take a guess? I'm sure you will figure it out."

"..Well, for starters, literality…" Sherlock pulled the lighter from his pocket, striking the wheel to create a flame to stare at. "I found this lighter as well as a pack of cigarettes in my coat pocket. I originally assumed that our dear friend Moriarty placed it there for my convenience, but he later denied that fact… Did you place it there?"

From the corner of his eye, he could see a small grin form on 'other' Sherlock's face. He was getting things right.

"Okay, what about the other items in my pocket? The list of all the actors, the keys to free David from his holding cell. I said earlier that I had probably pick-pocked him while he was injecting me, but now I stand corrected. You placed them there."

"…Go on."

"You were the one who gave me the list, so you must have wanted me to start my crusade to save everyone. But why?"

"Simple, I was working on taking down Moriarty. I needed you to play babysitter and make sure nobody gets hurt. I also helped David to your closet so you could take care of him. I don't need _innocents_ in my way."

"Ah. He must have lied then. Jim told me that he put David in my closet"

"Moriarty tends to do that."

It was incredibly odd, talking to a mirrored version of him. It was nice in a way, but the snark in 'Other' Sherlock's voice told a different story.

"That gun that Andrew held was actually a fake, as both me and Jim called him out on it. But…"

"But?"

"He was shot. But how could he be shot with a fake gun? Plus, when I inspected the body, the gunshot wound was completely angled wrong from where Andrew was standing. Not probable that he had killed Jim; he didn't have any gun training outside of training day when we were filming the pool scene."

"And your conclusion?"

"You killed Moriarty. You fired at the same time Andrew 'fired' so it looked like he did it. Clever, isn't it?"

A deep chuckle from the man next to him, a sign he was right. Sherlock sighed in relief.

"I'll clean up the body. I think you deserve this."

Several small vials were tossed his direction as Both Sherlock and other Sherlock stood up.

"The antidote. Because nobody but me needs my torturous thoughts flowing freely through their veins. There are names on each of the vials. Each has their own special cure. Don't screw it up."

"How did you and Moriarty get here?"

"…Let's just say my chauffer is a little naive. Not his fault, he just genuinely believes that there's at least a little good in everyone. This should have never happened."

"What about John? Was it really John?"

A blank stare from his counterpart. "Since Martin Freeman was away, I needed you to stay on your trail. I may or may not have drugged him, then placed him in Martin's flat with a note. He was really John Watson, Benedict. He's safe now."

He wasn't completely mad. This was the best news he had heard all day.

"You should probably go now, your friends are waiting for you…"

"…Yeah. Although I do know that you want me to leave so you can leave. "

The two sat in silence, staring at the flickering kindle. Now what?

* * *

**You thought I would take a break on the fourth? HA! There's not going to be one ending to this, but TWO! :D Then a bonus probably. Love you guys!**


	14. Ending 1

**Ending A-The first ending**

_The two sat in silence, staring at the flickering kindle. Now what?_

A text cried out from the pockets of other Sherlock, ending the serenity. Of _course_ Sherlock would get texts. It was too confusing for Sherlock to mention both 'Sherlock's" in the room, so he did something that he wouldn't have dared to hours prior. He started using the name Benedict again.

Benedict was a nice name.

"I've got to dash, my ride is here…" Sherlock stood up in a flurry, dusting off his clothes.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Erm, no. Too dangerous, having me around. You understand."

"I…Uh. Yeah."

"Listen, Ben. You're in actor in this world. Do what you do best. Act."

"So, this is goodbye?"

"…See you never." Sherlock dashed down the hall, and took a turn out of sight. He was gone. The one light in Benedict's life had just faded into the darkness, leaving him to care for everyone else around him. He held the delicate vials so he could see the solution that would save his brain from further destruction. Was this really the cure?

_Vworp, vworp, vworp._

Was…That? He could have sworn that he heard the faint noise of an all too familiar police box. It couldn't have been! But it was the only logical explanation. Ben smiled at the little vials that held his future. This really was an antidote, after all. He stood up, ready to find his friends. It was time everybody was saved.

"88 canisters of nitro-9 on the wall... 78 cans of nitro 9…"

"Take one down, pass it around…"

"Ugh, when is Sherlock coming back? It's been forever."

"David, it's only been 5 minutes. Calm down."

"I CAN'T calm down! What if something happened to him? What if something killed him?!"

"87 canisters of nitro-9…" Benedict cheerfully replied as he walked into the dark room, where his friends were huddled into a group, far away from the body.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in. Did you have fun wandering around?" Matt questioned.

"Sure did." Benedict tossed the appropriate vial to Andrew

"…No way. Is this what I think it is?"

"Yup." He replies, as he throws a different vial to David.

"…An antidote. Where did you get this?"

"From a friend."

"And how do we really know it's a cure?"

"Because, I just know. Now, who wants to go to a pub?"

"B-But the body!" Matt stammered.

"Forget about it. It will be cleaned up. Now, I'll ask again, who wants to go to the pub down the street?"

"But—you—How? Never mind. I guess I'm coming with.

"To the pub, away!"

_Sometime later…_

Benedict can see how nervous the man is.

The way he's holding himself, the way he twiddles his thumbs in anticipation. He's eager and nervous and a whole slew of other feelings all mixed into one. Looks to be right handed, has a dog, happily married for a short period of time; the wedding ring is still shiny. His eyes dart across the room, occasionally meeting Benedict's before he looks away. His idol _is_ staring at him, after all. He usually dresses nice, as evident by the nice shirt he is wearing. But he's wearing jeans that are an inch too short for him. Why? Oh, it must be laundry day at their household, as they were out of the usual trousers to wear.  
"Excuse me, Mr. Cumberbatch?"

He wants something. Tube rides were always both awkward and fun at the same time.  
"Oh, hello."

"Could…Could I perhaps have your autograph? I-It's for my wife, she's a big fan you know."

A shy smile from Benedict. He was always so…humble for some reason. "Sure. I don't have any paper on me, though so…"

"Ah, that's alright. Here's some."

The paper passes hands, and Benedict searches through his inner suit pocket for his pen. He runs his finger over a small glass vial containing a half used antidote before finding his pen-A subtle reminder of his recent past. He signs with a smile, and the two part ways. He has to remind himself to quit focusing and analyzing, but when he does, it's peace at last.

Because, in all honesty, why would Benedict _want_ to get rid of one of the best parts about him?

* * *

**Not the ending you wanted? Stay tuned! An alternative ending will be posted soon! Then maybe a bonus! I don't know! Exclamation point!**


	15. Ending 2

**Part of this alternative ending includes that the antidote be in a syringe instead of a small glass vial, just to cover up any plot holes I may have dug myself into.**

**Ending 2**

_The two sat in silence, staring at the flickering kindle. Now what?_

Sherlock held up the syringe, looking the gleaming cure held within. This was really the end.

"…Will this really reverse everything? All of your memories, your brilliant racing mind, all gone."

"It really will. I've got to dash; my friend is here to come pick me up. Thank you for taking care of them while I did the dirty work."

"Uh…You are welcome?"

"Do what you do best, Benedict. Act."

_Benedict…_ Sherlock felt like he should remember this name. He searched his mind palace for results, only to turn up clueless. He _couldn't remember_…

"…This will make me normal?"

"Absolutely and completely normal. It will kill off my DNA. Go back to your normal, dull life. I wonder what it's like, being you."

He stared into the bleakness of the hallway, as other Sherlock stood up in frenzy. It was time to go.

"…Could I …have a hug?"

"A hug? What for? Oh, Sentiment for saving your life. I suppose one hug can do…"

An irritable sigh. This was the end. Sherlock stood up, dusting himself off as the occasion called for it. A small thank you hug took place. Sherlock was hugging himself.

Other Sherlock wondered if something was up as soon as he had asked. It wasn't like him to go all _sentiment_, but then again it was actually Benedict he was talking about, not himself. As soon as he felt the throbbing pain he knew he had lost.

He thought he was being nice. The antidote needle in his back said otherwise.

"…You… **IDIOT!"**

A sly smile from the once-was. "You're welcome. Enjoy your new life, Benedict. Did you honestly think I could have gone back to that?

"YOU CAN'T DO THAT!"  
"Oh? And why not? Because I clearly just did."

"YOU—**YOU!**" The now Benedict Cumberbatch fumed.

"I win. Antidotes for the others are in your pockets, I'd give it a day or so before you lose your deduction powers." He showed a small grin as he held up Benedict's phone that he had pick pocketed from him. His wasn't going to need this anymore.

"Goodbye, Benedict."

The echoes of his footsteps revealed that 'Ben' was both motionless and speechless. He held up his new phone (that in actuality, he remembered pretty well) to see he had a new message.

**Is he dead?**

To which Sherlock naturally replied,

**He's dead, Jim.** **–SH**

**Ha, I didn't know you were a Star Trek fan. Meet me outside the warehouse.**

**Is John with you? –SH**

**Safe and sound.**

It was a bit of an impulse to type the last bit out, but it was also a (quite potent) impulse to stab his savior in the back. He could tell that Benedict would make a good actor. He found the exit after a minute of walking. This door would lead to his new, better life. With a turn of a handle, Sherlock was standing in the sunlight. It only took a couple minutes to realize he was being beckoned.

His eyes darted around the parking lot, until the fell on something peculiar. More specifically, a Type-40 TARDIS. Was it really true? It was pure science fiction, but on the other hand, his entire life at this point was fiction. He crept up toward the blue box, and knocked on the exterior. The doors swung open, to reveal the inner workings. He smiled at what he saw inside.

_Sometime later…_

This woman was scared.

Sherlock was sitting in his trusty flat in London, dealing with a client. He was surprised that John didn't have to correct anything 'rude' he might of said. He still didn't get the full spectrum of human emotion, however. But this woman in his flat was _terrified_ of something, he could _feel_ it. She rushed out to see the pair, as her makeup was sloppily put on, she was obviously too shaken up by something to keep her hands still. A burn mark and slightly yellowed fingers—She was a smoker, then. But _what_ would frighten her so much that she would have run out immediately to see Sherlock? He wanted to know, so out of pure curiosity he took the case. Probably an ex lover, as there's still a lighter spot around her ring finger. She left in a hustle; she was probably late for something.

"You know…"

"Hm?" John was probably going to ask a stupid, rhetorical question.

"You usually never take cases like that; you always deem them too "dull" What gives?"

"U-Uh?" Oh, great, it was always either rhetorical questions or the questions he doesn't dare answer.

"I don't know, we are short on money I guess.."

"That's a lie, we both know you couldn't care less about the money.." Crap. Living with the army Doctor for so long has made him easily readable.

"…You pity her, don't you?"

"No, it's that she was so pleading and annoying I had to get her out of the flat as fast as humanly possible to keep my insanity intact."

"Sure, whatever you say, Sherlock."

John was right, in a way. He could hardly remember anything from his previous life, as his memories have since long fragmented. He could still remember, it was just incredibly hard to do so. The thing that kept with Sherlock the most, however, was Benedict's humanity.

He hated to admit it, but John was right. He did pity the woman. Although, he never forced himself to delete his old memories.

Because, in all honesty, why would Sherlock _want_ to get rid of one of the best parts about himself?

* * *

**And that's a wrap! I want to thank EVERYONE who favorited, followed, and reviewed. Later today or tomorrow there will be a bonus chapter containing thank you's to everyone, the planning stage for this fiction, and a preview of my new fiction I plan to write! **


	16. Bonus goodies and stuff!

**BONUS ROUND!**

First off, I want to thank everyone who followed, or favorite, or whatever.

Followers as of 7/8/13

AglonAuthor, AlexandraKnight09, AmyPond11, CiiCiinREX, CountDownTimeKeeper, Crazy Pizzafan927, DarkLadySethra, DarkLordStormageddon, Gracie Emz, It'sSmallerOnTheOutside, JessWhovianX, Katgirl97,Link's Twin , Lysi Nothuna , MangaOtaku14 Phoebe711, Pocket Mushroom , RavenclawValdez, Robin The Girl Wonder, RunYouCleverBoyAndRememberMe, SharinganWeasel , Souffle Girl in a Blue Box , SwollenHeart, TheReaderWithAScarf , Violinguy95, WindyWords123, alliesmithok , doctor bow tie, doctorpotterwinchester , exterminate24-7 , iTorchic, kols-little-assasin , littlefaf, mentallyinsanefangirl13 , salad31, surrealArpeggio , and .12345

People who Favorited as of 7/8/13

AlexandraKnight09, AmyPond11, CiiCiinREX, CountDownTimeKeeper, Crazy Pizzafan927, DarkLordStormageddon, Gracie Emz, Holmes1216, JessWhovianX, JustEmmaIsFine, Katgirl97, Liontalon, MangaOtaku14, Noodle Fanatic, Phoebe711, RavenclawValdez , Robin The Girl Wonder, Roses and Angels, SharinganWeasel, Souffle Girl in a Blue Box, StormyRoseOnIce, TheReaderWithAScarf, exterminate24-7, iTorchic, littlefa , And mentallyinsanefangirl13

These guys deserve their own hall of fame for sticking with me! WHOOOOo~

I was going to add people who reviewed, but I'm lazy :P

* * *

So, I had to plan this story out. I used a planner (Duh! :D) Here's the first four chapters that I had originally planned out. (some details have changed) Yes, this is how I actually scheme my fictions. This is unedited.

OoOoO

Chapter 1—

BC after a long day turns on news station to find more actors are disappearing

When, out of his closet, pops out a fully Doctor'd up brainwashed David tenant!

BC is like "lol wut" and David's convinced he's the Doctor

David comes with a message "They are coming for you, you have to run before they—"

SURPRISE VISIT FROM NINJAS

David tries to help BC escape by sonicing a door with a toy screwdriver (Which unsurprisingly dosent work)

Benedict is Kidnapped, Lol

OoOoO

Chapter 2—

BC's head is released from its holding bag to see he's tied to a chair, clad in his Sherlock black magical coat of swoosh.

Some dark person comes out of the shadows in a red cloak, tells him hi

Benedict says nothing

Person starts monolouging

Benedict unties his hands, still says nothing

"Well, aren't you shy? Anyways Stay still, this needle won't hurt a bit. Blah Blah Blah"

Needle gets injected in Benedict's neck; he attacks back by ripping it out

About half of the fluid substance was injected,

Nefarious person in cloak is worried. Since only half of it was injected, it won't work

Benedict acts like Sherlock to be let go

Benedict somehow obtains list of the people who are next, (Pick pocketing or something? But waaaiiit, BC Never pickpocket anyone before. This must be that super awesome Sherlock sauce kicking in I guess)

Finds David tennant, begins his quest to save the others!

OoOoO

Chapter 3—

Matt smith is next on the list

BC/Sherlock and Doctor are now traveling Down the street, when S/B notices something is off

He's making flipping Deductions. Weeeeel, it doesn't have to be as big as the deductions, maybe just Sherlock's assholeishness beginning to shine through. Or the fact he doesn't want to take off his jacket in the heat. Something like that.

David tenant is batshit crazy at this point, but hey, a companions' a companion. Plus, He knows where MS lives.

After people asking for autographs (they ARE in costume) they decide to take a cab

Sherlock and the Doctor get to know each other, something that would have never happened otherwise.

S/B gets a headache, probably because the Sherlock serum is taking over his brain and everyone knows that isn't a good thing. He decides to take a nap, since MS lives a couple hours away and now is the perfect opportunity

When he wakes, he finds his brain won't STFU. He kind of likes it.

OoOoO

Chapter four—Smith's goin DOWN

They make is to MS's house

They find that he hasn't been harmed at all, Whooooo

Doesn't last for long, however. The 'Ninjas' decide to break in, with their cloaked master in tow

Benedect Goes full on SHERLOCK FUCKING HOLMES ACTION MODE and protect MS from harm because he's Sherlock Holmes, and that's what he does

Tennant is also helpful I guess

Cloaked master is like "My My, aren't you persistent?" Then jumps away

Ms's house goes on lockdown, They have tea because they are British and they can and I don't have much planned here, I just need the boys to waste their time 'Caus time is important right now.

They leave for Mf's house (Martin freeman, lol) and Sherlock NEEDS to get tenant to shut up about the TARDIS

Meanwhile, Cloaked figure says "Call in Moriarty" Meaning they have brainwashed Andrew Scott.

* * *

And finally, I had a brilliant idea about halfway through to make a new story; instead of ditching this one for that Idea I decided to ride this one to its death. Now, I'm ready to start on my new project.

…It's going to be a parody. Oh joy.

**A Parody of Monumental Proportions (Preview)**

_SHICGA SHICGA CHICGA._

What was that? Benadryl whipped his head around, certain he just heard a washing machine slowly and painfully die. There was nothing in his room, so it must have been one of the others.

"…Uh, Benadryl?"  
"WHAT, Captain Sidekick? I'm busy!" he hissed in reply.

"Well, let me put it this way. A cardboard box the size of a refrigerator just appeared out of nowhere in our flat!"

A cardboard box? From his vast experience, Benadryl knew that cardboard boxes usually contained presents and shiny things. Sometimes they held dead corpses, but most of the time it was shiny things. He dashed out of his room in a flurry, to see his friend Captain poking a _giant_ cardboard box with a stick— the first thing you do to check if something is alive. On said cardboard box was the inscription **T4RD15**, crudely scribbled on the side with some sort of permanent marker. The events to come were surely going to change their lives forever, Benadryl thought.

Little did they know that what would soon take place would only change their lives a tiny bit. The side of the cardboard box opened themselves, revealing a smoky mess that Captain Sidekick would have to clean up later.

Out stepped a peculiar man, with a gleam in his eye and a bolo tie around his neck. Things were about to get SERIOUS, as both of the flat mates tensed up in anticipation. Was he an alien?

"Hello! I am Doctor Who!"

"erm… Don't you mean 'The Doctor'?" Captain stammered.

"No, silly. I'm Doctor Who! Wonder where you got that from…. Anyway, I need your help."


End file.
